


The opposite of paradise

by LackingDelirium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A - Freeform, Dead!Fred, F/M, M/M, Melodrama, Sad!Hermione, Well - Freeform, angsty, lots of melodram, this makes me sad, where am i going with this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LackingDelirium/pseuds/LackingDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger had been thinking of moving on, well she thought about thinking of moving on. Oliver Wood decided no one person was worth the pain he went before. Maybe life does go on, and people do get left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The opposite of paradise

Hermione wasn't sure whether she was dreaming or not. She could never really tell until something she knew only in her wildest dreams came true. Positive things just didn't happen to her, she was damaged. That was because she was hopeless. Nothing ever good came from holding on to dreams, only more hollowness and sadness and hopelessness. Lately, she dreamt of moving on, away from the sorrow that surrounded her. But every time she thought about it, something happened that caused her to hold on to things that just didn't exist anymore. By now, she knew she was dreaming. She was standing in a room, it was all dark, except for the mirror in front of her. It was cold and she wanted to warp herself away, but she couldn't really move. The mirror in front of her showed a much younger Hermione, a Hermione with less stress, with a fire in her eyes that was now long extinguished. Her hair was still a mass of righteousness and a thirst for justice, when in reality, it was flat and dull. On her body was a long white nightgown. this happened often in her dreams, nightgowns. It was always white, as if somehow the irony showed to remind her of when she was pure, when life was better.

Warm arms encircled her body and in the mirror the boy she lost stood behind her. His warm eyes stared into hers. "Fred." The boy in the mirror gave her a faint smile. She knew this was not actually Fred, her sweet boy had long been dead, he had left her in the wake of the war.

"Hello my love, I missed you, did you miss me? Because I surely did. One moment without you is an eternity in my eyes." Even in her dreams, this could not be Fred, her love was kind. And this thing was evil, his eyes were a dull shine and his teeth were sharp and the aura around him was sad. So sad, so unlike her beloved. She dared not upset him, because this was the only way she could see the face of him. _It was the only way to see him._ even if it wasn't really him.

She felt herself shake her head. she knew it was unhealthy, it was hard to leave past loves behind, yet she knew she had to be better, she had to be stronger. So she knew what she must do.  "You are not him. You are not Fred. You are not my love." Her voice began to shake and cracked at the end. She would never be afraid of her past love. She was afraid now. 

The arms tightened into a painful feeling. The not-Fred's face twisted into something horrible, the stuff of fears and hate. She felt herself shatter, like glass, her arms bled, and the boy in the mirror swallowed her soul in anger.

* * *

She awoke with a start, her nightgown clung to her, wet by her sweat. It was a dream, she let out a shaky sigh. It was also not, it was a nightmare, but Hermione could not bring herself to call what she saw when she was asleep; a nightmare. It had Fred, so it couldn't be that terrible? This happened more often than not, and soon the tears would come. Hermione did not know how she came to this, she was once strong and full of life, now she was weak and broken. People had moved on, they left her behind. They left her in her sorrow, perhaps hoping she'd forget what had occurred, but they never knew that she would stay, that the pain would prove too much, that it would kill the Hermione they once knew, and that it would trade her for a sad and broken one.

Hermione knew that was what they thought of her, but she couldn't help herself, how could one scream if they were underwater? Maybe it would have been possible when she was merely drowning, but not when she had drowned. It was too late for her, and her only hope was to die. And it was morbid and  _wrong,_ but to her, that was her only hope. To die when she could still remember what he looked like. 

She did not want to die, but with her dreams plaguing her of the only happiness of her life, morphing the boy she had loved into a creature of pain and misery, she did not see the point. Tomorrow would be the same, she would wake from her little sleep, and make her way into work, the shell of her past and smile for those who asked, but they would see past it, but never ask, for she would not answer.

Hermione wasn't sure whether she was dreaming or not. She could never really tell until something she knew only in her wildest dreams came true. Positive things just didn't happen to her, she was damaged. That was because she was hopeless. Nothing ever good came from holding on to dreams, only more hollowness and sadness and hopelessness. Lately, she dreamt of moving on, away from the sorrow that surrounded her. But every time she thought about it, something happened that caused her to hold on to things that just didn't exist anymore. By now, she knew she was dreaming. She was standing in a room, it was all dark, except for the mirror in front of her. It was cold and she wanted to warp herself away, but she couldn't really move. The mirror in front of her showed a much younger Hermione, a Hermione with less stress, with a fire in her eyes that was now long extinguished. Her hair was still a mass of righteousness and a thirst for justice, when in reality, it was flat and dull. On her body was a long white nightgown. this happened often in her dreams, nightgowns. It was always white, as if somehow the irony showed to remind her of when she was pure, when life was better.

Warm arms encircled her body and in the mirror the boy she lost stood behind her. His warm eyes stared into hers. "Fred." The boy in the mirror gave her a faint smile. She knew this was not actually Fred, her sweet boy had long been dead, he had left her in the wake of the war.

"Hello my love, I missed you, did you miss me? Because I surely did. One moment without you is an eternity in my eyes." Even in her dreams, this could not be Fred, her love was kind. And this thing was evil, his eyes were a dull shine and his teeth were sharp and the aura around him was sad. So sad, so unlike her beloved. She dared not upset him, because this was the only way she could see the face of him. It was the only way to see him. even if it wasn't really him.

She felt herself shake her head. she knew it was unhealthy, it was hard to leave past loves behind, yet she knew she had to be better, she had to be stronger. So she knew what she must do. "You are not him. You are not Fred. You are not my love." Her voice began to shake and cracked at the end. She would never be afraid of her past love. She was afraid now.

The arms tightened into a painful feeling. The not-Fred's face twisted into something horrible, the stuff of fears and hate. She felt herself shatter, like glass, her arms bled, and the boy in the mirror swallowed her soul in anger.

She awoke with a start, her nightgown clung to her, wet by her sweat. It was a dream, she let out a shaky sigh. It was also not, it was a nightmare, but Hermione could not bring herself to call what she saw when she was asleep; a nightmare. It had Fred, so it couldn't be that terrible? This happened more often than not, and soon the tears would come. Hermione did not know how she came to this, she was once strong and full of life, now she was weak and broken. People had moved on, they left her behind. They left her in her sorrow, perhaps hoping she'd forget what had occurred, but they never knew that she would stay, that the pain would prove too much, that it would kill the Hermione they once knew, and that it would trade her for a sad and broken one.

Hermione knew that was what they thought of her, but she couldn't help herself, how could one scream if they were underwater? Maybe it would have been possible when she was merely drowning, but not when she had drowned. It was too late for her, and her only hope was to die. And it was morbid and wrong, but to her, that was her only hope. To die when she could still remember what he looked like.

She did not want to die, but with her dreams plaguing her of the only happiness of her life, morphing the boy she had loved into a creature of pain and misery, she did not see the point. Tomorrow would be the same, she would wake from her little sleep, and make her way into work, the shell of her past and smile for those who asked, but they would see past it, but never ask, for she would not answer.

 

The sun arose, bathing her room in a golden light, it would have been beautiful, but Hermione did not care, what was the point in beauty if she could not understand it, and she had no one to share in it? The world was no longer beautiful, at least not to her. Hermione dressed carefully, in all black, so the world could see she still mourned. It had been years since Fred died, but she could not let him go. They were beautiful. He was beautiful and so very brave.

Hermione left her bedroom and entered into the kitchen, she was not hungry, but Harry would come soon and he would be upset if she did not eat. So she made some toast. After all, she owed it to him. He saved her when her world came crumbling down. Right on schedule, her fireplace lit up in green and Harry Potter the- boy-that-could-not-save-everyone stepped into her dining room. "Hermione, how are you today? " His messy hair made her want to smile, it would never be neat.

"Hello Harry, I think I'm a little better. I dreamt of him again." At first he had smiled but then it faded. He was always concerned about her.

"What did you say to him? Hermione answer me. What did you say to him?" Harry's voice rose in anger. Hermione looked at her toast, why was he angry?

She was quiet, but Harry looked at her and she knew she had to tell him. "I said, you are not my love. You are not Fred." Hermione looked up at her best friend. His anger disappeared. His face smiled brightly and Hermione smiled back, he was proud of her. Harry came to her and hugged her tightly and though it was not Fred, it felt nice and safe. Harry knew all about her 'dreams' and what plagued her even in the living world ,but he couldn't possibly understand. After all, he was happy.

"I am so proud Hermione, you are making so much progress. What happened after?"

The happiness that had been bubbling in Hermione faded. Her face became sad again. "He was angry and swallowed my soul. I didn't like it. Harry, he- it ate my soul, but how? I don't have a soul anymore." she was still confused about that.

Harry set her down, and looked at her, his warm arms let go of her and she mourned the warmth, she was always so cold. "What do you mean you don't have a soul? Mione, listen to me, you have a soul."

She shook her head, why was he not understanding it? "No, Harry, my soul died with him."

Harry stared at her in disbelief, he pushed down the urge to shake her. "Hermione, your soul did not die. Your soul is beautiful, I can see it, your soul is there." Hermione then cried. The tears rushed down her face. How could he say that? Her sweet Fred had said that to her once. His bright greens eyes had pierced hers, it was the middle of the night, when they were all alone, and she was questioning life itself. He smiled so reassuringly and in love, he had said, "Hermione Granger, you are not a bad person, I can see your soul and it's beautiful." That was so long ago, but she could remember it like it was a day ago. Harry reached around her again and embraced her, she felt the warmth and the pain went away a bit.

Harry held her close through her tears and repeated himself. Her tears faded and she looked at Harry, his eyes were sad. "Hermione, are you well enough to work today?" When she shook her head he asked, "Well, what about dinner with Molly? She misses you. " Hermione thought about it. She missed the Weasleys and they always treated her so nice.

"Harry, I want to go to dinner with the Weasleys. "

"Really?"

"Yes, today feels like a good day." She felt like she was starting to sew herself together at last. There was so much nerves and so much to do, but she knew Fred would like  her attempting to become the old her again. She was always so sad and alone.

 

Hermione apparated to the Burrow a quarter before five and nostalgia hit her. She smiled. She had been smiling more often today. The Burrow in the warm summer was a lovely sight. It had been so long since she had been here. Almost three years in fact she stopped coming by a year after Fred died, when they started to treat her with a pity and she hated it. Almost like she was holding on for too long, as if there was a time on mouring. She missed them but she was so afraid to see hate in their eyes. She bit her lip and willed her tears away, she was so tired of weeping.

She made her way down the hill and stood in front of the door. Once upon a time she had merely walked in, but that was a long time ago. Was she to knock? Or did she walk in? She didn't have to make that decision, for the door was pulled open. Her eyes widened, "Oh, come off it Percy, No-" The voice belonged to a Weasley, the one she did not want to see It could have been anyone, but she would recognize that voice anywhere and she did, in her sleep. Her voice caught in her throat. This was a terrible idea, a mistake, she couldn't do it.

Wide green eyes met hers and she knew it was too late to leave. "Hermione?" She backed away from the door, all thoughts forgotten as tears flooded her face. George was white as she turned to leave. This was not Fred, she knew that, but her heart would not make the difference, they had the same face and it hurt so much. George's hand wrapped around her wrist, hesitantly, as not to hurt her, preventing her from leaving. "Hermione, stop! Don't leave!" The hand around her wrist was loose, so she could leave if she truly wanted to.

She let herself be pulled into the house. The table for dinner had been set, and everyone had settled around it. When they saw Hermione, the noise went quiet and everyone stared at her. She interrupted something. "I- I didn't realize everyone had started, I'm sorry, I'll just go..." Three things happened at once, the hand on her wrist tightened, the table went into an uproar, and Molly Weasley stood up and sat Hermione onto a chair.

"Nonsense, we had just sat down, you are always welcomed here Dear." Hermione gave the mother hen a slight smile. Arthur was at the head of the table as always, Molly sat to his left, Bill and Fleur were at his right, Charlie was there, Percy, a man she couldn't recognize, an empty chair, her heart tightened, that was where He sat, then it was her, George, Ron, Harry, and Ginny.

"Hermione, how have you been?" Ginny smiled at her.

"Hi Ginny, I've been... Better."

"That's good." She started to eat, but it was distracting to do so when she could see everyone look at her in pity. She didn't need their pity.

Everyone dug into the food and Hermione was reminded of how good the food was. "Hermione Granger?" She looked up in confusion. It was the man she didn't know.

"Yes? Who are you?" She instantly flinched, that came out snappier than she expected.

"It's Oliver, Oliver Wood." She narrowed her eyes, that name was familiar, then she remembered.

"Oliver, weren't you the one that almost got Harry killed in third year?" Everyone snorted into the mashed potatoes.

He had the decency to look ashamed. "Err, that wasn't my proudest moment."

"I could see that." She looked at him and he nodded bashfully. Hermione had nothing more to say, she let her head hang down and went along with playing with her food. she knew that everyon


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